I changed out of my school uniform and I pulled on a pair of pale blue denim shorts, frayed around the edges, and a white vest top over my bra. I had started developing and Mum kept saying it would be time for ‘The Big Talk’ soon. But so far no such conversation had occurred. Thank God.
I looked at myself in the new oval mirror Mum had put on my dressing table. It wasn’t quite straight, so I nudged it to the right. As I did, it began to slide to the side. I reached out to grab it, but before I could it had hit the dressing table, smashing into tiny bits, hundreds of shards of glass scattering across the table and carpet around my feet.
I looked at the mess. I wasn’t worried about Mum’s response; I knew she would be cross and try to blame it on my clumsiness, but she would come around and realise it would have been wiser to have asked Dad to nail it to the wall.
All I could think about as I backed out the room looking at the mass of glass all over the floor, was that I had now been cursed with seven years’ bad luck.
Dad and I walked across the courtyard towards Saxby House, and he ushered me up the steps. Pippy and Purdy, Josephine’s border collies, came bounding down to greet us. I gave them both a pat and they both followed us through the back door and into the large kitchen where Mum was working. I stood close to the Aga, which pumped out heat all year long, and immediately I could feel a pool of sweat on the small of my back. Mum regularly complained about the heat in Josephine’s kitchen, saying these people had more money than sense, and here she was, shining the silverware at the kitchen table, sweating. Dad gave Mum a quick kiss on the cheek, and she flinched and playfully shoved him away. ‘Ooh, too prickly – it’s like being kissed by a hedgehog.’
Dad rubbed his stubble. ‘I rather like it – it makes me feel more rugged.’
‘You know, you should take a little more pride in your appearance, Phil. Especially when you come over here,’ Mum hissed.
‘I’m the gardener not the bloody butler,’ Dad retorted.
I began to drift off listening to my parents’ conversation and looked around the kitchen, feeling a bubble of nerves building in the pit of my stomach. I knew I had to tell Mum about the smashed mirror back at the cottage, because since we’d moved out of Hackney, she had suddenly become so protective of ‘the nice things’ she had bought. But my nerves were over meeting Caitlin. It was stupid, I was only meeting Josephine’s granddaughter, but something about it felt monumental. So far my time at Saxby had been pretty uneventful. I was ready for some adventure. Knowing I was about to meet Caitlin felt like something special.
Dad said he’d see Mum for tea, gave me a quick wink and mouthed, ‘Good luck,’ which only seemed to send my guts wobbling even further.
I edged my way over to the table where Mum was furiously rubbing polish into a silver candlestick, preparing for a dinner party that was happening at the weekend.
I moved closer. Perhaps if I got the confession of the broken mirror off my chest, I might be better prepared for meeting Caitlin. I leant in and spoke quietly. ‘Mum, I erm, I…’
‘What is it, baby? Speak up, you know I don’t like it when you mumble.’ Mum rubbed hard at a stubborn spot on the candlestick, her face set in deep concentration.
‘I, um—’
Before I could finish my confession, there was a commotion just outside the kitchen door, and a young girl with long, dark, thick wavy hair had edged her way into the doorway. This must be her, this must be Caitlin, I thought. She had plump pink cheeks on a porcelain face and freckles that started on each cheek and met on the bridge of her nose. I noticed the blue of her eyes, almost turquoise. She wore a purple-and-orange smock dress with pink leggings underneath. I had to stop myself from sniggering at the boldness of her outfit. She was overtaken in the doorway by a tall, rosy-cheeked brunette woman, who looked younger than my mum. Just behind her were two small boys, who looked to be about four years old, and I guessed these were Caitlin’s twin brothers.
‘Hello, I’m Natalie, Caitlin’s nanny,’ the woman said, ‘and these two troublemakers are Troy and Abel.’ Natalie tried to encourage them to wave but they both hid behind her legs.
Then I felt like I did when I was watching a Disney film and a bad character appeared on the screen as another figure appeared in the doorway behind Natalie. She was a perfect replica of Caitlin except older and the thick, wavy dark hair was cut short like Princess Diana’s. She was wearing a plain white cotton dress, showing off toned, tanned arms. She had a small grey-and-black rectangular camera hung around her neck.
This, I thought, must be Caitlin’s mum. She was not wearing the same smiley expression as Natalie.
Mum looked up and said brightly. ‘Hi, nice to meet you Natalie, Caitlin. Hello, Ava. I was just putting the kettle on, would you like some tea?’
I glanced at my mum, who suddenly looked untidy in comparison to Ava with her hair scraped back in a messy ponytail and a film of sweat across her forehead.
Caitlin stared at me, unblinking.
Ava moved into the kitchen. ‘Caitlin, come through,’ she said. But Caitlin stood rigid still, staring at
